“That’s a lot of land. It must take forever to farm it all.”
“It’s what Dad does. And with the new farm equipment nowadays it doesn’t take all that long. Now, you might want to get down. We’ve got some guys who work for us, and unless you want to get me in trouble you’d better stay out of sight.”
“Won’t you be in trouble if they see you, anyway?”
“They’ll probably just think it’s my dad, coming home for lunch. They don’t always know where he is. Stop worrying.”
Casey hunched over in the seat, scooting down low into the leg area of the passenger seat and ducking her head as far as she could.
“This is fun.” Death sat in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard, above Casey. “Think we could do this more often?”
Bailey pulled into the long driveway, driving faster than Casey liked, bumping Casey’s head up into Death’s legs. She was thankful she was wearing a hat. Bailey lurched to a stop, opened the electric garage door, and pulled in. “Stay down.”
The garage door made its slow descent, ending with a quiet clunk.
“Okay,” Bailey said. “You can get up now.”
Death had already moved, so Casey unfolded from her position and climbed out of the car. She bent over, hands toward the floor, stretching her back.
“You okay?” Bailey stopped halfway to the door to the house.
Casey straightened and forced a smile. “I’m fine.” She grabbed her bag of information and followed Bailey into the house, stopping just inside the door. This place was not just a “farmhouse,” as Bailey had said. It was a state-of-the-art home, beginning with the kitchen into which they’d come. Stainless steel appliances shone in the brightly lit room—skylights and windows were everywhere—and the floor looked like original tile work, as did the counter top. Rows of expensive pots hung from hooks above a cooking island, and the tops of the custom cabinets were lined with cut glass bowls.
“Wow,” Death said. “So much for the idea that farmers are back-woods.”
Bailey dropped her purse onto the glass kitchen table. “Shower first, or food?”
No contest.
Death watched as Casey stashed her bag under a pile of towels in the bathroom’s sink cabinet. “I’ll guard your stuff.”
“Oh, great. And how will you respond if Bailey comes in and looks around? Chill her to death?”
“No.” Death’s voice held exaggerated patience. “I’ll tell you.”
“Oh.” Casey slid off the ball cap and waited.
“What?”
“Can you at least turn around?”
With rolling eyes Death spun toward the wall. “You are so sensitive these days. Are you having body-image issues?”
Casey pulled off her bloody sweatshirt. “I’m not— Never mind. How about you just pretend to respect my privacy?”
“Whatever. Maybe I’ll just go see what your little friend is doing, instead.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Casey watched Death walk through the closed bathroom door before she stepped into the shower. She stood under the steaming water for a long time, shampooing her hair twice and scrubbing her body roughly with the washcloth. The cut on her shoulder looked a little better than the day before, even with it re-opening after Davey’s. The cleaning at the hospital had done wonders.
By the time she was done, her skin felt raw, and after patting it dry she slathered it with the scented body lotion on the counter. She rooted through the cupboard and found a large Band-Aid for her shoulder, and even some of that sticky wrap-around gauze. Finally, she pulled on Bailey’s sister’s clothes, which fit remarkably well, except for the length in the jeans; she was obviously taller than Casey, so Casey simply rolled up the hems.
“Feel better?” Bailey asked when Casey rejoined her in the kitchen.
“Much. Thank you.” Casey put her bag of papers under her chair.
Death was nowhere to be seen.
Bailey stuck a grape in her mouth. “No problem. Heather’s clothes fit you all right, huh? Hope you don’t mind pink. That’s pretty much all she owns.”
Pink wasn’t, in fact, one of Casey favorites, but she wasn’t about to complain. “What can I do with these?” She held out her old clothes.
Bailey wrinkled her nose. “Burning barrel. Here.” She rummaged under the sink and held out a grocery bag, into which Casey stuffed the clothes. “I’ll take them out while you’re eating.”
“It sure smells good in here.”
Bailey brightened. “Spaghetti. Sounded good to me, so I hope you like it.”
It took a few minutes for Bailey to finish cooking, so Casey picked up the newspaper, which sat on the counter. Nothing on the front page about the accident or Wainwrights’ Scrap Metal, but page three held a little of both. Investigators Unsure of Accident’s Cause, one article said, and explained that it was a mystery as to why the construction vehicles were on the road. It described Casey’s appearance and reiterated that she was wanted for questioning, as were a group of men who had been at the accident site.
Yeah, well, good luck finding them, Casey thought. Or me.
But there was more.
“It was so strange,” Bethany Briggs said to reporters at the crash site. “I stopped to help, and the woman had a man in a headlock. She let go when I arrived, and pushed him out of the way. I don’t know what she was doing, but I guess she was in shock. I mean, why else would she be wrestling with someone right after being in an accident?”
Casey rubbed a hand across her eyes. She’d forgotten about her Good Samaritan in the bright red suit, and hoped she wasn’t going to become a problem. There wasn’t anything more from Ms. Briggs in the piece; just the usual stuff about law enforcement keeping the public up-to-date.
She looked at the next article.
When David Wainwright, owner of Wainwright Scrap Metal and Recycling, heard his dog barking, he didn’t think much of it until he saw the men on his property. “They just showed up,” he said. “I don’t know what they were doing there.”
Wainwright and Wendell Harmon, a mechanic visiting the office, looked outside in time to see the two men confronted by a third, who immediately attacked the other two.
“He just went crazy,” Harmon said. “We couldn’t hear anything they were saying, and we weren’t about to go outside. Instead, we called 911.”
Wainwright, Harmon, and Rachel Inskeep, the scrap yard’s secretary, watched from safety as the third man incapacitated the other two.
“As soon as we heard sirens,” Harmon said, “the man took off.”
The two men, whose names are yet to be released, were taken to the local hospital, where they remain under a physician’s care. Police are waiting to question them further.
Casey set down the paper. The men and Rachel had completely covered for her.
“Ta da!” Bailey set a steaming bowl of pasta on the table, dumped a bag of salad into a bowl, sliced some bread, and set out the grapes. While Casey filled her plate, Bailey took the bag of clothes outside. Casey dove into the food, pushing aside her anxiety. Bailey soon came back and ate her share, as well.
When they were done, Bailey put away the leftovers while Casey placed the dirty dishes in the high-efficiency dishwasher. Bailey wiped the table and threw the dishrag into the sink.
“Ask for a tour.” Death’s breath was cold in Casey’s ear. “You’ll find something interesting.
Casey raised her eyebrows and mouthed, what is it?
“Ask,” Death said.
“So,” Casey said. “Any chance I could get a tour?”
Bailey shrugged. “Sure.”
She took Casey through the sunroom, the den, the living room, the rec room, the master bedroom and bath—which were large enough to comfortably serve an entire family—and the entertainment room, which housed an enormous flat-screen TV and surround sound. In each room Casey looked to Death, who hung back with crossed arms, head shaking “no.” Finally, they stood in front of a closed wooden door, and Death’s face became more animated.